Chapter Thirty-Four #2
The windows in my classroom show an angry sky, one promising either a brutal rainstorm that will slicken into ice in the morning, or a wintry mix of rain, snow and sleet, which will also make the roads dangerous. I’m packing up my bag to go so I can beat the storm home.
There’s thudding of boots that stop and a knock on my office door.
My hackles rise, a chill shoots down my spine, vibrating like a low hum.
“Professor Harrington?” The man is of average height as he stands next to the door, tattooed on his tan hand still a fist he used to knock.
Dark eyes, dark hair slicked back, clean shaven, and a tablet in his other hand.
He’s dressed in a black overcoat, dark slacks and leather boots with a grip, clearly dressed for the storm gathering outside.
He lowers his hand and just barely crosses the threshold.
“Yes?” I ask, adjusting my glasses on my nose, pushing them up so they settle properly.
“Detective Arlo Martinez. I don’t mean to hold you up; it’s getting ugly out there. I just… I’m a fan, really. I was appointed this case this morning and when I heard you were teaching here, I was wondered if you could possibly look at something for me?”
I check my watch. It’s six o’clock already. Damon will have dinner cooking by now.
I lift a shoulder and let it drop while shaking my head, “I have a few minutes.”
I should’ve stayed home.
“It’ll be quick. Just a piece of surveillance video. It’s a little grainy but I was hoping maybe you’d have a little more expertise. Apparently the owners of the home, the victims, were supposed to have their system upgraded this weekend, but they were murdered.”
“Ah.” I say, grabbing the tablet as he extends his arms out to hand it to me.
“It’s only two or three minutes long. It’s been fast forwarded already to the important times. Like I said, I don’t want to waste your time.”
“Sure.” I say as I click on the triangle icon to play the video .
A single person shadow surges, long over the lawn, the corner of the nightgown and… something on the feet. A minute or two passes by and this time it’s two shadows coming back. The one wearing the nightdress slightly limps across the lawn, and my stomach swoops and drops.
Completely schooling my features, not letting him see I recognize that fucking limp, Detective Martinez’s phone rings and I rewind the video. I look up at him, to see he’s a holding a finger up to me, motioning that he needs to take a call to which I nod, giving him the go-ahead.
“Martinez.”
I replay the video, watching the limping shadow. I let my eyes scope the rest of it, seeing blonde hair at the shoulders and I exhale slowly, letting my eyes go up to see Martinez with one hand on his hip as he watches me watch the video.
“I see. Alright. I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Looks like a blonde woman.” I say when he hangs up.
His brows furrow. “Yeah. My team did notice that. Except, the only woman at the scene was the victim. Time stamp shows ten-oh-one PM. Coroner has reported time of death somewhere about fifteen minutes prior to that.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
I want to vomit, but I keep my expression neutral.
“Who were the victims?” I ask because I have to know.
“Uhhh, full confidentiality?” he asks, brown eyes grazing over me as I hand him back the tablet.
“Of course.”
“Thaddeus Whitmore II and his wife, Ashleigh.”
A whooshing in my head, blood rushing to my ears. Black dots appear at the sides of my vision. “I see. Any other witnesses or surveillance?” I ask, swallowing down bile.
“The only other person that had access to their home was his father, the Dean here, if I’m right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I heard he had a cardiac arrest. Currently in the ICU being treated.”
His face goes dark, brows furrowed once again. “Yeah, my partner just called me. Seems he had another heart attack and was unable to be brought back. He’s in the morgue beneath the hospital, currently.”
“Christ,” I breathe, this time letting myself fall back in my chair.
“Friend of yours I’m assuming.”
I nod, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Macallan from my drawer and the tumblers, pouring myself and him a glass.
“Yeah, we developed a kinship after I was hired on. Reached out to me when he saw I had… issues at times.” But that’s not why I’m in a daze.
No, I’m in a daze because Damon was just there earlier.
He didn’t say anything to me about him being dead. Unless…
Arlo grabs the glass of whiskey and shoots it back, sucking on his teeth. “Damn that’s good. So you say the person in the video is a woman, for sure?”
For some reason, that makes the whiskey in my throat burn more. “I said that?”
“You did.” He eyes me, dark stare softening as he seems to be aware of the fucking tornado he just brought at my door. “Fuck. Listen, how about I come back another day, I seem to just have dropped a lot on you and there’s a storm brewing.”
That’s a fucking understatement.
I nod, sipping my whiskey, letting the slow burn fill me.
I don’t hear him leaving.
Don’t remember myself locking up and leaving.
Don’t hear the music playing in the background as soon as my Bluetooth connects to my car speakers.
Don’t remember the drive home or parking.
I don’t even remember getting out of my SUV but when my hand touches the icy doorknob, it’s as though the fog in my mind clears and all I can feel is rage.
Thunder rolls overhead as the rain pings against the windows and hits the roof of my house. A storm promising destruction.
I stare at Damon’s back, illuminated by the fire in the fireplace. It was all so easy for them, wasn’t it? To keep me in the dark. To fool me. My anger has surpassed rage and is now a simmering fury.
I catch his reflection above the mirror of my sidebar holding crystal decanters full of liquors so nonchalantly, having done this plenty of time before, a comfortable liar. He grabs my favorite, the one holding the Macallan, and begins moving his hands around, obviously making himself a cocktail.
When he’s done he turns and strides over to me, an old fashioned like the one in his hand, handing it to me as I sit in my oversized leather chair, made to feel comfortable, and yet, it's the worst chair I think I’ve ever purchased.
Granted, I’ve never exactly sat in it seeing as I simply went to the furniture store and told them to just get whatever was on the display. All of this stuff is technically new.
I eye Raven’s textbooks all over the coffee table and I know she probably sat on the floor doing her class work.
Her methodical chaos. Organized only in her mind and it hurts me, my heart stutters.
I hate myself for adoring the way she ate her snacks while studying, and reading, and didn’t mind the mess.
I had even ordered a desk to put in my office so she could be closer to me. So I could watch her closer.
I’m a fool.
So easy to fool me. I fell for it. Her little meek mouse facade. A bad girl with big doe eyes that just needed to get fucked into oblivion. But the veil has been lifted.
I know what I saw.
I know it was her.
I take a sip of the old-fashioned Damon handed me.
I’d know that limp anywhere. Have seen it up close and personal.
She’s upstairs right now, probably well fucked and full of cum and that’s how she did it. Using her feminine wiles to distract me.
Did she ever even care for me? Did I imagine it all?
“That’s the Harrington Curse…”
The wind picks up outside, along with the splatters of raindrops, hard and unrelenting.
I have a serial killer in my house and her two henchmen.
Damon sits back, places an ankle over his knee, and pulls out a cigar, so fucking relaxed in my home, and lights up like he’s at Inferno, offering me one which I decline.
“You look troubled, Maverick. A dollar for your thoughts?”
“Give me her story,” I reply a little too sharply .
“It’s not mine to tell.”
“And you expect her to just open her mouth and tell me?”
Damon grimaces. “Think of everything you’ve read, of what you know of her, of what you’ve seen of her, and think, really hard. Let go of the black. Let go of the white and let yourself think in all the vast oceans of purples there are.”
“The ocean isn’t purple.”
Damon chuckles. “It could be. We were told the sky is blue but is it really?”
I hold in my eye roll at his bullshit philosophical jargon and look down at my drink instead, the scent of his cigar hangs heavy between us.
“This isn’t a fucking joke, Damon. I had a detective come to my office after class today and showed me videos of a certain someone limping around at a fucking crime scene. ” I growl.
His smirk drops as he takes another puff, the end of the cigar glowing a bright cherry red, blowing out the smoke before he takes another sip of the best fucking old fashioned I’ve ever tasted. “It wasn’t her.”
This time I don’t hold back the eye roll. I get back up to my feet, a hand on my hip and shove my hair back, holding it at the base of my skull with the other. “Damon, please. I can’t be in love with a… a-“
“A what?”
“A serial killer. It goes against every single one of my morals!”
“Does it?” He’s slow to stand and keeps his distance from me.
“Yes! If she were… that-“
“Your entire life you’ve had a cog in the machine mentality.
Which is your first problem.” Damon interrupts me.
“The other problem you’ve had is you don’t even hate the wealthy you hate one wealthy person.
You’ve hated her your whole miserable life because she chose a life of wealth, she chose to leave you behind, she chose herself. Your mother-“
“ Don’t bring her into this! Do not psychoanalyze me!” I roar just as lightning strikes behind him and the light above us flickers. The news promised the worst storm in over four years and they sure are delivering. “Just tell me her fucking story so I can try to understand! ”
There’s a creak coming from the bottom step as Raven steps before us. She’s wearing my FBI hoodie, large on her frame, the sleeves of them cuffed by her fingers. A slap in the face. A good fucking joke and my fury knows no bounds.
When she comes deeper into the living room, Jonas is also in view but behind her, in the shadows, watching silently. He looks exhausted. I stride to her grabbing her face by the chin so harshly her lips pucker like a fish.
“Speak! Tell me you didn’t do it! Speak, goddamn you!
Fucking talk to me for once and save yourself!
Open your fucking mouth and lie to me!” I break, begging , my breath hitching as I peer into the wide, mesmerizing depths of caramel and gold.
My heart aches, because if she would just open her beautiful mouth and lie to me, I could help her.
A tear rolls down her cheek but she doesn’t move. The only noise in the room is the crackling of the fire and the raging storm outside.
“Speak!” I rage again.
There, her lips move and I lessen my grasp as more tears flood her perfect face and she gives me one shake of her head but her face is distorted in pain, as though her heart is splintering right along mine.
She won’t even deny it. She won’t lie. She won’t fucking speak to me and I throw the tumbler against the mantle, the glass shattering against it.
“Raven baby, we gotta go.”
I look at Jonas, who grabs her shoulder but she, stupidly and unafraid, marches to me.
I push her off but she tries to get to me again and again and when I finally shove her off and she tumbles down, I regret it as soon as it happens and reach for her but Damon catches her, I see the agony on her face that mirrors my heart.
I clench my jaw, feeling the muscles ripple.
I don’t miss the anger on Damon’s face and when Jonas comes and punches me square in the jaw, I don’t retaliate.
I deserve that.
“Let’s go, Raven.”
She signs something to him about her binder and with a huff, Jonas gets it and brings it back down along with her backpack and keys, packing up her textbooks after handing it to her .
It's big and looks heavy when she clutches it to her chest. But she walks to me anyway, brave, stupid girl, but Damon is behind her, clutching her to his chest gravestone eyes piercing mine.
Her lips part, opening and closing several times before she rubs circles on her chest, over the binder. “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”
I hold it in. I hold in my agony and my tears and my heartache as Jonas opens the front door and I hear the familiar rumble of the Rover’s engine turning. A sound that used to excite me. That made me feel a sense of gratitude that my girl was coming home to me.
She hands me the thing but when I don’t take it, she leaves it where her textbooks were and goes out into the storm in nothing but my hoodie, fuzzy socks and her boots she leaves by the door.
“Don’t ask questions when you don’t really want to know the answers.”
“It’s too fucking late now for that. You all betrayed me, Archer. Easily. Get the fuck out.”
“You want to know why you don’t want us to really answer your questions?
Because your scientific mind wants confirmation.
It seeks to be validated that it’s so fucking smart.
You get a tiny gold fucking star for being just a smidge above average if you figure out the riddle.
Probably gets your cock hard and irons out your asshole so it un-wrinkles but when it comes to this, to her - it's no riddle. It is barely the corner piece of the biggest fucking puzzle you’ll ever solve.
So do not ask questions. Watch it unravel.
Watch her unravel. Let your mind be blown for once. ”
“I don’t know if I have it in me to do that.”
“Then why did you ask the question?”
He leaves. The door slamming behind him thanks to the howling wind and when I hear his own vehicle start up, a panic sets in.
I'm losing her, them, the only family I’ve ever known. I run out into the freezing rain but neither car is in my driveway and I run to the two-lane road, only to catch the fading red taillights disappear and the rain turns to sleet against my skin as Damon’s voice rings loud in my ears.
“… when it comes to this, it’s no riddle. It’s barely the corner piece of the biggest fucking puzzle you’ll ever solve. So do not ask questions. Watch it unravel.”
With that, all I know is that this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
To Be Continued.